


on the other hand

by eggfish



Category: Ensemble Stars! (Video Game)
Genre: Awkwardness, Gen, Not a shipfic but it can go in the tag, Pre-Canon, Self-Esteem Issues, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-05
Updated: 2018-11-05
Packaged: 2019-08-17 15:28:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16519109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eggfish/pseuds/eggfish
Summary: For Kuro, it's only ever about one thing. But Keito sees finer distinctions.(Set in their second year.)





	on the other hand

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was originally inspired by [a song.](https://bryandunn.bandcamp.com/track/animal-skin)  
> I wrote a lot of it before Shinsengumi TLs came out, so it's not canon compliant with how the Ryuuousen works (they bother to sing sometimes, for one), but hey.

Kuro forces himself to stay still. It’s not like he could even think of why this makes him so uncomfortable. It just does, every time: his hand palm-up on Hasumi’s knee, the space bridged between their rickety backstage stools. Hasumi with his head bent in concentration, touch tight and steady, weaving the white tape closely around Kuro’s knuckles. 

His fingers look almost dextrous, almost pretty, next to Kuro’s callused spade hands. Never mind that he can use his hands for calligraphy and kyudo and not much else while Kuro is the one who draws up the patterns, makes their outfits, styles their hair, and wins their fights. Maybe Kuro gets uncomfortable because he’s jealous, of those hands, or of those hours spent on refined cultural pursuits.

Maybe he gets uncomfortable ‘cause he’s not used to the attention. “Hasumi,” he tries again, “y’know I could just do this myself. You can go over our dance one last time.”

Hasumi finishes on one finger, breaks the tape with a sharp motion and smoothes it down carefully. He moves on to the next. “We’re not going to be dancing.”

Kuro grunts. “True.” Akatsuki’s challenger today is another unit with a reputation for violence; their only way of drawing crowds, seeing as their music couldn't keep a dead cat entertained. There’s no way they plan to forfeit. It’s going to be a brawl. “Still. I don't need you fussing over me like a… uh...”

“Like a good unit-mate?”

“Nah.” His left hand is done now, and he flexes his fingers, satisfied at the restriction, before switching it for his right.

“Hmph. It’s easier and more reliable when someone else can do it, with both hands. I hardly contribute anything else here so I’d like to at least make this as easy for you as possible.”

“Oh right. You’re relieving guilt then.” 

Hasumi’s methodical winding stops. “Well, I have no way to deny that.” It starts again. “But I’d much prefer if you took it as concern.”

“Dunno what the difference is at this point, honestly.”

“It’s a fairly big and important difference, Kiryu.”

“Is it? If you end up doing the same stuff anyway.”

“The risks you take onstage scare me and I worry that you’ll get hurt. The point is that we're being careful.” Hasumi stops again, his fingers grazing against Kuro’s palm for just a second too long.  “Not to be crass,” he adds, “but your body is the most important part of this operation, so try and take care of it, will you.”

“Hm.” Not like he could take less risks either way. It was just animal fighting, there were no calculated decisions.

The last piece of tape secured, Kuro’s hand safely back in his own personal space. He opens and closes both fists. The buried-deep-down brat in him wants to punch a wall. 

“I would've thought your head was the most important part,” he says.

Hasumi snorts and prods his glasses up his nose with a finger. “Please. No matter how perfect a plot I think up, it’s all pipe dreams if people don’t go along with it. I’m done with convoluted plans that rely on predicting various people’s actions - relying on you instead accomplishes far more.”

“And I’d be accomplishing a big fat nothing if I didn’t have  _ you _ in charge, yeah? I guess we’re pretty even.” Kuro considers and grins. “But there’re a million delinquents like me looking for ways to kill time, y’know. On the other hand, you’re the only glasses-wearing wimp worth following out of all of them, how’s that for most important?”

“I - excuse me? Wearing glasses is a  _ positive  _ trait!” Hasumi pushes his up again, offended.

“I’m just teasing, relax. Point is, I’m replaceable, so don’t get your pants in a twist about what I get up to out there. It'd be better if you didn't watch at all.”

“No, you’re undoubtedly an irreplaceable asset. I doubt many delinquents are so skilled at handicrafts, for one. You’re gifted creatively.”

Kuro glances down. “‘S plenty of people who're good with their hands.”

Hasumi  _ tchs. _ “For goodness’ sake, have you ever heard of unique artistic perspectives.”

“Nah, too many long words in there,” Kuro decides. He won't listen if Hasumi is going to start going all Itsuki on him. 

“Just shut up and go, then. But be  _ careful _ .”

 

\--

 

Backstage again, and their new costumes don't fit, and that's all there is to it. Wearing his own handiwork, Kuro can't tear his eyes away from himself in the mirror and the shame burns him from the pit of his belly to the hot skin on his cheeks.

“'M sorry about this,” he mumbles. “Must’ve gotten the measurements wrong.” This kind of mistake can't be fixed in a few stitches. He’s not as used to traditional-style clothing, honestly. As a kid he’d mostly done frilly western-style stuff with Icchan - Itsuki - learning from  _ her _ , from Ma with her quick hands and loud laugh and -- And then his own clothes and his sister's and embellished biker jackets and all that other useless stuff.  He was learning on the fly for Akatsuki, and it was pretty good fun. But hell, if the end result was going to be this shoddy, what was the point?

“I don't really see what's wrong with them,” Hasumi says, twisting to see himself from different angles.

“Well, you aren't trained in this stuff. But even if people don't notice, it’ll still make a difference. In the backs of their heads. We can't go out there like this, we’ll lose respect.”

“We’re going to have to. I don't think we hold a lot of respect anyway… Our audience this time will be next to nothing since the other unit isn’t going to show their faces. Making an appearance at all is the priority.” 

Kuro gives him a doubtful frown. 

“ _ Kiryu _ ,” Hasumi says. “I didn't recruit you to this unit to be a seamstress.” 

“You recruited me to hit people,” Kuro agrees, because something in him knows that talking plain truth is the best way to throw Hasumi off his stride.

Outside the audience is starting to file in, a dull growl filtering through the flimsy walls, and Hasumi’s eyes dart away and back, his jaw tightens.

“Kiryu… Why choose now of all times to dig your heels in? You've gone along with far worse demands of mine, can't you just - what is this  _ really  _ about?”

Kuro smoothes his hands over the fine fabric he’s made a mess of. He'd begun to take pride in something for the first time since he’d joined this school, making these clothes. With his own dirty hands, for Akatsuki, he’d made things more beautiful and worthy than he could ever be. Things that were more than the sum of their parts, that were parts of something greater. Of course he’d want to fix the outfits. Of course he'd make a fuss.

And of course Kuro can't articulate any of this, only  _ feel _ it, all mangled and ashamed inside him; and feelings are not the kind of thing he talks about with Hasumi. 

“I like sewing,” is what he finally manages to force out of his mouth. 

“I see,” Hasumi replies shortly. Kuro feels that burn again - he still can't talk properly with anything except punches, huh. He turns away, rummaging through their stuff for microphones, headsets, programmes.

“We’ll forfeit, then.” What? Kuro pauses, hands hovering over a hairbrush. Stares at Hasumi in the dressing-room mirror. “You can fix the outfits for next time.” 

“But…”

“But what?”

Kuro turns to stare at the real Hasumi, instead, who looks just as mulishly calm. “This ain't right. You're meant to ignore me an' do what’s best for your goals. Don't forfeit, you’ll mess up our track record.” 

Hasumi tilts his head. “Kiryu, being passionate about what we do is the only thing that separates us from the people we fight against.”

“I wouldn't say ‘passionate.’”

“No, you wouldn't.” The corner of Hasumi’s mouth tugs up in the faintest of smiles. Normally Kuro would grin back, but.

“I’d say  _ selfish.  _ I’m not a brat who needs to be spoiled and babied, so don't give in to me, 'kay? Let’s go already.”

He moves; Hasumi does not. Kuro hesitates. He doesn't want to lead.

“I'm happy,” Hasumi says lowly, barely audible over the chaos outside. “If you like sewing - if this can be more for you than just a job where you hit people.”

Ah. Kuro nods. “I get it. Relieving guilt again.”

Hasumi makes a noise of irritation. “Do you still think that - look, does it always have to be about guilt with you?” 

Yeah, it does. Always. “Do  _ you  _ still think this's just a job for me? Think I don't like you?”

“Oh - “ Hasumi looks scared suddenly. Kuro hates this. 

“Hey, 'm sorry. I do, you know.” He returns to give Hasumi a slap on the back, pushing him forward. “So just be as bossy as you want, I know you like it. Lead on.”

“Oi, don't hit me so hard,” he wheezes. “Or at all.” He straightens. ”Fine, then we’ll forfeit. Don’t think of it as guilt.” He lifts his chin a little. “It’s just a selfish desire. I’d like to wear the best clothes you can possibly make, if I’m going to perform.”

“Right,” Kuro agrees. And that’s all they say about it. 

 

\--

 

Onstage. Their costumes fit this time, but that’s a distant thought when he’s this busy. Kuro goes through the motions again and again without thinking, his karate forms channeled and twisted into shapeless violence. It's tough going. His opponents, his  _ victims, _ they always struggle awhile. But this one is holding out longer than usual. Long after his unit-mates have been flung out of the ring he's still twisting out of Kuro’s holds and using cheap wily tricks to nudge and trick him toward the edge. Kuro thinks too slow to do anything about clever tactics like that. The guy is breathing hard, though, tossing sweat-stained hair out of his eyes and stumbling, and Kuro knows easily which of them will win. 

Then the guy grins, a wild grin an idol could never show onstage, and suddenly Kuro realises he's wrong. He wasn't being pushed  _ towards _ the edge of the stage, but  _ away  _ from the wings  _ - _ where Hasumi is waiting, watching like Kuro had told him not to -

But  _ he still knows which of them will win _ , and as his enemy whips around and sprints for the backstage entrance a burst of raw energy sears any thought of karate out and he just flings his body  _ forward  _ in a burst of strength that rips his outfit at the seams. He impacts and slams the guy face-forward into the ground, there's a horrible thud - the audience roars, and Kuro roars too, panic and rage and fear - 

Then the lights cut out and the dim green exit signs are the only things left in the blackness. The audience are being ushered out by student council members. It's over. He stands, heavily. 

“Kiryu.” Hasumi's voice comes from behind him, somehow. “Are you okay?” That's a pointless question.

Kuro makes himself speak. “I'm sorry, Hasumi.”

“Don't be.” Kuro feels warmth brush him and tenses as Hasumi moves past to face him in the dim light. “Someone on our side cut the power, thankfully. I won't let this get out.”

“...Ou. Thank you.”

“Let’s carry him backstage for now.” Hasumi claps his shoulder.

“I broke his nose at least.” And his idol career along with it, probably.

“That's what we do, Kiryu.”

“It's what I do.” Kuro pretends like his eyes haven't adjusted enough to see Hasumi check the guy's pulse in the dark.  

The light backstage is bright white. They set the guy down on the floor and Hasumi turns away to call an ambulance. They can’t take him to the doctor’s office, too many people would see. 

Hasumi's eyes widen as he turns back. “Ah...” he says, and reaches out to touch Kuro's outfit where it hangs burst and broken from him, red lining bleeding out of its black-and-gold facade. “You’ve done quite a number on this one, I see.”

“I’ll use stretchier fabrics next time.”

“No, I… You’re incredible. It was beautiful when you ripped it like that, you know. All the red swelling out at once.”

“Huh?” 

Hasumi has a small smile on his face. He looks incredibly sincere. “It was like flowers blooming,” he says.

Kuro's numbness is broken for the first time by a desperate struggle not to laugh. He fails, and Hasumi looks indignant.

“I'm serious, you know,” he says. “I’m not just making it up for your benefit.”

Kuro's mouth twists. “I know. Nobody would make up a line like that.” 

“That's good… oi, wait. There's nothing wrong with what I said.”

“No, prob’ly not.” 

“ _ Probably?” _

He smiles and smoothes his hands over ruined fabric, again. The only thing these hands are any good for is destroying things. But if it's different in Hasumi's vision, well. That's what he places his trust in.

**Author's Note:**

> I really like these two, the Shinsengumi event story was incredible... *sighs*  
> As usual, I love Enstars and you can find me talking about it at @star_goldfish on twitter~


End file.
